


The Roots Beneath His Feet

by literallymelchior



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Build, im excited to be writing again, omg im finally posting a fic for the first time in like three months
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallymelchior/pseuds/literallymelchior
Summary: He had one more year of this, and he could move to God knows where, starting new in a place where no one knew his name. It was something he thought about every day, laying in his bed with his throat aching from crying every night. But he had to hold on for one hundred and fifty more days, counting the hours and seconds of the days, waiting until the day until he graduated. It was all he could hold on to. For now, at least.Ernst Robel is lost, confused in the maze that is his life. But he meets someone new, and his eyes open for the first time, seeking the beauty in the world around him.TRIGGER WARNING(S) - Referenced Child Abuse, Bullying, Blood, Homophobic Slurs,





	1. Whirlwind

Insecurity raveled around Ernst’s heart like a rope, squeezing and squeezing until it felt like his chest was going to explode. It settled into the floorboards and curled around his mirror, making him stare and stare at himself until there was nothing left to love, and nothing left to care for.

 

He was envious of all the kids who led perfect lives, who didn’t have to hide the bruises and the cuts that he endured every night when his father would get drunk and scream until Ernst was sure that the roof would fly off and there’d be nothing left but sky. But his father was like a tornado-he destroyed everything in his path and left Ernst reeling with his hands over his eyes, trying to cover the disparity all around him. 

 

Ernst’s mother left when he was young. He could dimly remember her soft voice and the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and how his little hands would grasp her hair. He remembered her vanilla scent, how soothing it would be to Ernst as a child. What he didn’t know during those moments of bliss that his mother would be leaving, and he would face the drunken wrath of his father. 

 

There was nothing relaxing about his life. Nothing sweet, nothing calming. It felt like his mind and soul were trapped in a whirlwind, going around and around until his breath caught in his throat and his head was pounding. It felt like there was nothing that could be done that could save him. He felt no glimmer of hope in the horizon.

 

-

 

Nine hundred and thirty-three footsteps. That’s how many steps it takes Ernst to walk to school every day, his bag digging into his shoulders and his head hung low, earbuds in his ears. He could feel a bruise forming on his cheek from last night. 

 

His father stumbled into the house last night when Ernst was asleep, his breath smelling of alcohol and his speech slurring. Ernst woke up to his father hovering over him, staring at him with his fists clenched in rage. 

 

Ernst wanted to leave. He had one more year of this, and he could move to God knows where, starting new in a place where no one knew his name. It was something he thought about every day, laying in his bed with his throat aching from crying every night. But he had to hold on for one hundred and fifty more days, counting the hours and seconds of the days, waiting until the day until he graduated. It was all he could hold on to. For now, at least.

 

Ernst gritted his teeth, his jaw cracking with the effort. His shoes squeaked as he stepped onto the clean tile of the hallway, watching as people walked to their classes, streaming into the school like water. Kids bumped their shoulders with his and smirked as he stumbled, whispering clouding his thoughts. He felt the insecurity enveloping him once more, and his eyes looked down again, averting his gaze. He couldn’t be noticed again and hear the taunts of those boys, bearing down on him like some sort of parasite, drenching the energy from him. 

 

He refused to look up. 

 

-

 

“Herr Robel, are you listening to me?”

 

Ernst startled from his slumber, his face flushed and eyes heavy. He couldn’t stay awake for longer than twenty minutes in his classes, sometimes falling asleep with a pencil in his hand, filled with the intention of taking notes and paying attention but always failing to. 

 

“Herr Robel! This is the second time you’ve fallen asleep in the past week.” Frau Gottlieb ripped a pink slip from her pad and gave it to Ernst, her handwriting near illegible in her anger. “Take this to the office, Herr Robel. After school detention must be served deliberately.”

 

Ernst could hear snickers coming from the back of the room as he went out the door, slamming the classroom door behind him. Silence awaited him, except for the muted laughter and discussion coming from different doors. 

 

Freedom. At least for this period. 

 

Ernst swung his bag over his shoulder and walked across the hallway, not even stopping for the call of the hall manager. He shouldered open the double doors to the school, not noticing the piercing stare of the former reformatory boys staring him down, smoking cigarettes in the alleyway between the gym and the main building. They smirked at Ernst’s scrawny frame as he set down his backpack and dug around for a pen, his journal held loosely in his hand.

 

“Hey, Skindiana Bones! How’s your mom doing?” Deiter stalked to where Ernst was sitting, snatching his journal from his grasp. He put his cigarette onto the cover of the notebook, watching as a burn mark slowly began to appear on it. 

 

“Can you please-please give it back! It doesn’t belong to-” Ernst was cut short by a punch to the face, knocking him down on the ground. 

 

“God, that’s sad. You can’t even take a punch, you scrawny piece of shit. Hold him up. I want to see how long he can take it, hearing his own words.” Two boys twisted Ernst’s arms back, watching as his face twisted in pain. 

 

“December 13th. There’s a bruise forming on my collarbone where my father punched me last night; his breath reeked of vodka as he screamed at me, his spit flying everywhere. I just want to leave this wretched house, where he controls me like the devil. Sometimes I wish I was just like my mother, buried with her sweet old—“

 

“Please, stop!” Ernst yelled, trying to get the attention of someone,  _ anyone,  _ who could try 

 

Deiter laughed, his arm raised to punch Ernst again. 

 

“You like this, you faggot?”  He swung, his fist almost connecting with Ernst’s face.

 

Almost.

 

“Hey! Hey, stop!” Ernst heard a voice coming towards him, and suddenly he was thrust to the ground, watching as Deiter and his friends ran away, scrambling over the fence. His journal was on the floor next to him, the wind flipping the pages back and forth. 

 

Blood gathered on the floor below his face, and Ernst gingerly touched the side of his head, wincing at the cuts and bruises forming on his face. 

 

“Are you okay?” A boy’s shadow came over Ernst, and he sat up, his head throbbing. A hand was extended, helping Ernst get to his feet. 

 

“Yeah, I think I’m fine. I just-” Ernst looked up and peered into a pair of blue eyes and concerned face. His face turned beet red, and he laughed nervously. “Yeah, um, I think I’m okay.” He spat into the grass and looked down again, blood still running down his head.

“We have to report this, but we have to get you cleaned up.” The boy grabbed Ernst’s journal and bag, his forehead scrunched in apprehension. “What’s your name?” 

 

“My name? Well, um, my name is Ernst Robel.” 

 

“Well, nice to meet you. I’m Hanschen.” He stuck out his hand towards him, his lips curled into a smile. “I think we’ll get along fine.” 


	2. The Turning of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His thoughts stopped as suddenly as they had come, and he fell asleep, lulled by the soft whispers of the wind coming through his open window. 
> 
> Ernst finally gets a friend, and his heart is soothed for the first time in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO! so i decided that i'm going to be updating every wednesday and saturday, so expect there to be updates on those days! i really hope you enjoy this, ive been able to hash out 1,000-2,000 word chapters and im really glad that my chapters arent so short anymore lol. enjoy!!!

 “Mom, I think—Yeah, I know, but at least I managed to stop the bleeding. Yes, I know I have to report it, but he doesn’t want to. No, I don’t know why. I barely know him. Yeah. Okay, I’ll let you know. I love you, bye.”

Ernst shuffled his feet nervously on the carpet of Hanschen’s room, his head wrapped in gauze. Hanschen had given him pain medicine and cleaned his cuts and left him to rest. He sighed, rubbing his shoulder tenderly.

“You know you’re going to have to tell them eventually, right?” Hanschen stood on the threshold of his room, watching Ernst with his lips pursed. “They’re gonna check the cameras tonight, and you’re gonna have to confess what they did. Don’t you want justice?”

 Ernst swallowed nervously and laughed, his shoulders tense. “No, I, um…”

He didn’t want the school to know, because then they would tell his father. And then his father would corner him and make him feel trapped, forcing him to fight on his own in the piercing gaze of his lies, His father would grab him and shake him like a ragdoll, and he would be even more sheltered and lost. So no, he refused to tell the school. He didn’t plan on doing it anytime soon.

“I...I don’t plan on telling them. But actually, I have to-I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.” Ernst grabbed his backpack from the corner and walked toward Hanschen, his journal tucked under his arm.

“Well, at least let me walk you to the door.” Hanschen ushered Ernst to the foyer, and Ernst walked slightly behind him, gazing at the pictures on the wall.

There was a picture of a family on the wall, with Hanschen wrapping his arm around his mother’s shoulder and his father beaming at his daughter, who was sitting on his shoulders and laughing. There was a sense of belonging and of togetherness, which left Ernst feeling empty. Barren.

The wall was crammed with pictures of Hanschen and his sister, school pictures and pictures of him and his friends in the park and at school. Ernst wanted to laugh. Why should he even be hanging out with this boy, who obviously had a much better life than him? He seemed to be happy and content with his life, and it made Ernst feel strange. Why couldn’t he have a normal life? What did he do to be stuck in a place where everything was warped and his emotions went up and down until he felt like there was nothing else he could try to save himself with?

 He could barely remember a time when life actually felt right for once, where all he had to worry about except how he was going to hide in the park with his friends, trying to look for clues of make believe creatures that sang to him in his mind, digging in the grass looking for flowers. But Ernst couldn’t go back to that. He just had to stay in this moment, looking for something that might give him closure and—

“Hey, um, Ernst?”

 Ernst snapped himself out of his thoughts and caught up to Hanschen at the door, his cheeks red.

“Sorry, I was—I was just looking at the pictures on your wall.” He said, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. Hanschen smiled softly and looked up at the wall for a moment. "Yeah, my mom kind of overdoes it with the pictures sometimes.

“Well, I have to go. I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah! See you tomorrow.”  

Ernst walked out the door into the cold, crisp night, his hair standing on end and making him shiver. He heard the door shut and turned around briefly, looking at the lit up house. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t reality. It could never be.

-

Ernst slowly the door to his house, the shadow from the street light illuminating the narrow hallway.

“Dad? Dad—I’m home.” He said softly. The house was silent, and stifling hot, making Ernst’s hands shake. God, he hated being in here. This house came with so many nightmares that he could barely sleep.

Ernst stalked quickly to his room, shutting the door behind him. It was bare and empty except for a bed and a desk littered with school papers and receipts. It seemed sad and barren, except for one thing.

Ernst crouched down in the middle of the room and felt around the floor, hearing a soft _pop_ coming from a floorboard as it shifted and moved, revealing fifteen leather journals, all of them thick and filled with notes and pressed flowers. He could never imagine if someone where to find them, especially his father.

His father.

Ernst heard the slam of the front door and quickly put his journal in the hole of the floorboard, placing the floorboard back in its place and climbing into bed, not even bothering to take off his school clothes.

His eyes began to shut as the door to his room slowly opened, casting light over his bed.

“Ernst, are you awake?” His father poked his head into his son’s room, gazing at the small bump resting the bed.

Ernst shut his eyes and sighed softly. _He wasn’t drunk,_ Ernst thought. _But he might still be angry._

But all he was met with was silence.

The door clicked shut, and Ernst relaxed, letting go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Was it going to be like this forever, with him constantly wondering if his father was drunk or angry? It shouldn’t be like this forever.

Whenever he tried to remember a time where things weren’t like this, a time where he didn’t have fear that his father would be filled with rage one day and lift him over the edge of death, testing and teasing him. Ernst could dimly remember when his father was happy and kind towards him, and his mother loved her husband.

Ernst forgot what his mother had looked like, and hadn’t seen his father smile ever since she died.

He couldn’t linger in the past for long, or he would forget that he had this reality.

Ernst turned around in his bed and laid away from the window. His thoughts stopped as suddenly as they had come and he fell asleep, lulled by the soft whispers of the wind coming through his open window.

-

“Ernst? Hey, Ernst!”

Ernst was about to walk inside his first period classroom when he heard his name being called from across the hallway. He didn’t really have a lot of friends, obviously, except for his best friend Martha and apparently, Hanschen.

Right?

“Hey, do you feel better? Does your head still hurt?” Hanschen asked. He was smiling, his dimples showing. Ernst felt a strange jolt in his chest as he stared at Hanschen, and he shivered. What did _that_ mean? 

“Yeah—uh, yeah, i feel a bit better. Thanks for helping me yesterday, by the way. I really appreciate it.” He chuckled and shuffled his feet. Why was he so awkward about this? It was extremely unassuming and probably annoying, to say the least.

“No worries, Ernst. Do you maybe want to go study in the library after school tomorrow? I don’t have practice today, and we have Calculus together. I see you falling asleep multiple times a day, you know.” Hanschen laughed and grabbed Ernst’s hand, dragging him in the middle of the hallway.

Ernst coughed nervously; his blush began to spread in two different directions, moving quickly down his neck at the same time marching towards his ears. “Um, sure? I mean it’ll basically be a tutoring session because I’m failing calculus. I have a 63, I think? It’ll definitely help if you test me on the most recent--”

‘Get to class, Herr Robel and Herr RIlow! Your studies will not be kept waiting.” A teacher whisked by the two of them, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. Hanschen smiled again and let go of Ernst’s hand, leaving him feeling like there was an empty space that should be filled. It bothered Ernst and left him wondering. 

Hanschen flipped open the cover of Ernst’s journal and scribbled his number on the inside cover, his hand moving quickly. _Please don’t look at the drawings on the first page,_ Ernst thought. It was embarrassing to admit to even having a journal sometimes, but to see drawings of naked people was even worse. Explaining those kinds of drawings were kind of uncomfortable as well; he hated explaining to Martha how they were just ‘reference’ instead of the real truth. He had been hiding his confusion for so long that he didn’t know what was even real anymore. But he intended to keep things that way.

“Here’s my number. I’ll text you later tonight the calc assignment and we’ll find a place to meet up after school tomorrow. I’ll see you later, okay?” Hanschen handed his journal back to Ernst and walked down the hallway, his figure receding as he walked away.

Ernst opened the cover of his notebook and saw Hanschen’s loopy handwriting in blue ink. _Text me later, okay? Don’t forget to take Advil if your headaches pop up again. Hanschen._

He covered his hand with his mouth and smiled, his heart jolting in his chest. A friend was exactly what he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> me??? posting for the first time since august?? you bet your ass!!!!! i finally decided to write in my free time and im really happy about how this came out :-) enjoy!!!!!!!!!!! give me lots of feedback as this goes along.


End file.
